Of Cream And Honey
by FlayAltadusa
Summary: "Shall I address you as woman or beast, then?" "Neither," she replied, looking away, "I hail to my descendant, Beorn, thus, you may call me Beorning." An unlikely wanderer is found in the realm of Mirkwood, and the king will not let her go so easily.
1. Chapter 1

"My lord!"

Feredir, captain of the Mirkwood Elven Guard, wordlessly averted his gaze to his startled subordinate. His stoic façade was unfazed as a young ellon, Sídhon, hurriedly strode towards him.

"What fares, Sídhon?"

"We have found a wounded bear in the woods," he replied.

"Absurd," the captain said, "Bears do not dwell in the forests of Mirkwood."

Sídhon said nothing, and shifted his gaze to his companions as an answer.

Feredir followed his gaze. There, three of his guards towered over a dark, bloodied bear, their hands brushing over the hilt of their daggers with growing intent. Fainor had notched an arrow and had aimed it at the beast's skull for precaution, though it seemed unnecessary. The bear was lying before them, near death.

"Fainor," Feredir said firmly. The elf glanced at his superior grudgingly, but obliged and lowered his weapon. The bear growled weakly, its large, cloudy eyes shifting over to Feredir. Its eyes bore pain. Insurmountable pain. Eyes of one who had too much blood split, had lived through too much evil and hate.

"It is still alive, my lord," Sídhon said, "But quickly dying."

Feredir gazed at the bear. It was beaten and bloodied beyond compare. Its body was ridden with grievous wounds, fresh and bleeding profusely. The wounds were deep, reaching through its thick hide and penetrating its flesh. There were multiple wounds along its side and back, and it seemed like they were inflicted by weapons. Its flesh had been beaten soft, and now bore a sickly, purple color. Patches of its dark fur had been burnt off, leaving charred black skin in its place. The bear's head was of somewhat better condition. Its face was young, but bore old scars. Its snout was shapely, but its face was somewhat hollow-looking, possibly from malnutrition. A long, shallow scar ran through its left eye, reaching down to its stout jaw.

The burns and bruises were somewhat irregular, and it was if the bear was bound and tortured. The wounds however, were inflicted with the intent of bringing death upon the beast. This made no sense. Most of its injuries were fresh, and it seemed like the beast had been ambushed and severely wounded by numbers great enough so that they could both hack and beat at the bear. Why would one ever feel the need to inflict such pain upon this creature? Perhaps the beast itself was great and malevolent and its enemies were tasked to slay it. Possibly its enemies were the evil ones.

Either way, Feredir was disturbed by such malice.

The bear's eyes followed his. They were bright and curious, like a child's. It did not seem to be aware of the fact that it was facing an almost certain death. This puzzled Feredir so. It was completely oblivious to its lethal wounds, perhaps ignoring it, or simply unaware of it all together.

"My lord? What shall we do with it?"

The captain contemplated slaying it and ending its suffering, but the bear seemed to be quite peaceful as it was. It breathed evenly, and blinked slowly, as if to marvel at its last sights of the world.

"It can do no harm," Feredir replied, his eyes never leaving the bear's, "It is breathing its final breaths as we speak. Let it rest."

The captain crouched down to one knee and slowly placed a hand on the face of the bear, as if to comfort it. _Giving solace to a dying beast_, he thought to himself, _You are becoming too soft, Feredir_.

"Rest well, mellon," he whispered.

His hand left the bear's face, and its lids fell shut. It was dead.

Feredir stood. "Well then," he said, somewhat heavily, "Let us return."

His men shuffled away, not sure what to make of their captain's show of affection. He was a stern, stoical elf who probably did not show that much love to his own mother. Sídhon was particularly confused, having spent the most time with the captain. In all years serving under Feredir, he had never encountered his captain's gentle face. He glanced back, seeing that his captain had not yet caught up to them.

Feredir walked with his usual indignant air, as if nothing had happened at all. He stepped briskly and surely.

_He values his pride… _Sídhon thought, watching his captain but in amusement and awe. He was in the midst of turning back around when his keen elven eyes suddenly noticed something behind Feredir. Subtle movement.

Feredir noticed Sídhon's widened eyes and immediately turned back around to face the bear. A strange thing was happening. The bear's dead body seemed to morph into something else. Its body began to shorten and thin, morphing into that of a human's. The fur seemed to disappear off its body, leaving it with swarthy, human flesh. Its thick stomach and legs reshaped into the slender physique of a human. More precisely, a woman. She laid motionless, long, black hair obscuring her face and chest.

The guards gaped at the woman as if she descended from the skies.

The woman still bore the heavy wounds. They seemed even more grievous against her soft, human flesh. She was naked, and her body was shivering from the sudden exposure to cold air. She would not last much longer.

Finally coming to his sense, Feredir hastily unclasped his cloak and threw it over the unconscious woman. He wrapped it snugly around her body, thankful that her thick hair covered her chest area. He lifted her up and carried her in his arms.

"My lord…" Sídhon started. The rest of the guards watched their captain walk off, utterly bewildered.

"I will not let a woman die in front of me," he said curtly.

"It is not a woman, it is a beast," Fainor spoke coldly.

"Then you are blind," Feredir retorted, "For what I see in front of me is a woman." He began to walk off, nudging past Fainor with an icy glare.

Sídhon grabbed his shoulder firmly. "And when you reach the palace? What will you do with it?"

"The King will decide on that."

* * *

**So that's the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. This is my first Hobbit fanfic, and my first fic I've written for awhile so don't expect anything too grand. This is currently set pre-Hobbit (explaining why Tauriel isn't the captain), and I hope to keep everything as canonically correct as possible, but I do apologize in advance to all those purists out there, because I'll probably encounter some holes later on in the story.**

**But in the meantime, thanks for reading, mellon nin!**


	2. Chapter 2

Sídhon hesitantly treaded down the wooden steps of the palace dungeon, making sure his steps were light and soundless. A week had passed since they had discovered the woman, and a week had she slept. For the time being, the king ordered for her to be kept in the prison, unbeknownst of her strength as a bear. He had identified her as a Skin-shifter. A Beorning, from the Vales of Anduin. A female Skin-shifter was rare, and the king was intrigued.

Still, she did not awaken and the King was growing impatient. Some suggested she was dead, after being inflicted such grievous wounds, but the healers denied this. They had spent long hours healing her when she first arrived, and ensured she was alive and healthy.

_It would be much simpler if that beast were just dead_, Sídhon thought.

Sídhon was tasked to awaken the woman without evoking her transformation, and then guide her to the king's throne room. He did not know what triggered the transformation, and did not want to know.

_Why me?_ The young ellon wondered, _I want no association with that she-beast._

But an order was an order and Sídhon could only comply, though bitterly. He locked away his hostile thoughts and approached the woman's cell with only gentle intents. He was surprised to find her sitting by the door, gazing at him with her dark eyes, as if awaiting him. She was awake at least, and to his delight, not a bear. This made things much easier.

The healing company's work was evident, as her tanned skin showed few scars and was scrubbed clean from its previous filth. She wore a simple green tunic and pants, to Sídhon's relief, and her raven hair had been washed and straightened. He did not know if the wounds on her torso were fully healed. The scar on her eye remained though, bearing a haunting resemblance to her animal form. He took notice of her striking brown eyes, which were dark and bore many secrets. He had only taken a glimpse at the bear at their first encounter, but those undoubtedly were the same eyes. Full of pain... and memory.

The young guard realized he had been staring at the woman for a while, and quickly averted his gaze. When he looked back, the woman was staring right back at him, curious and confused. Remembering his duty, he stood before the woman and initiated a conversation.

"Do you have a name, woman?" Sídhon asked, more sharply than he intended to.

"If I did, I have long forgotten it."

Her voice was strikingly low, almost identical to a man's. She spoke smoothly, but slowly, as if she were unfamiliar with words and was just getting used to the feeling of them on her tongue. Her voice was young. When she spoke, her eyes would dart about as if searching for something. But they ended up meeting Sídhon's by the end of her phrase.

"Shall I address you as woman or beast, then?"

"Neither," she replied, looking away, "I hail to my descendant, Beorn, thus, you may call me Beorning." She seemed unfazed by the guard's rude demeanor. She spoke nobly of her kin, uttering the name Beorn with great air.

"Well then, Beorning," Sídhon said, dryly, "The King wishes to see you. Can I trust you to keep to your human form?" He glanced at her as he unlocked her cell door.

"As long as he does not anger me," she answered, smirking. Sídhon scowled.

She emerged out of her cell, stretching out to her full height. She was several inches shorter than the elf, to his content, but her arms and legs were long and thick with muscle. She was lean and slender, but sturdily-built. Sídhon dared not underestimate her. He hastily handcuffed her wrists in front of her and guided her out of the dungeon, one hand on the hilt of his dagger and the other on her back.

"You need not be wary of me, elf," the Beorning spoke, "I can do no harm."

Sídhon ignored her and lead her through the palace and to King Thranduil's throne. Her face remained stone-cold and unchanged for the most part, but her dark eyes widened ever so slightly as they entered the throne room. He could not blame her, for it was a magnificent sight for elves and foreigners alike. Sídhon watched the Beorning's eyes travel up the winding staircase to the high throne of the Elvenking of Mirkwood.

The king sat comfortably on his wood-carven throne, one leg crossed over the other. He was draped in a grand, grey robe that covered his legs and spilled on the ground like a pool of silvery waters. He adorned rings of white and red jewels on his long fingers, which he tapped lightly against his armrest. His face was long and wise, but still youthful. He bore eyes of blue sapphires that held a light gaze upon the Beorning as she observed him. His hair was long and fair, and a crown sat upon his kingly head, adorned with autumn leaves and red berries. She had never seen anything of the like. If beauty had a form, this ellon would be its epitome.

The king watched her with subtle amusement. "I did not know that the people of Beorn trod upon my lands," he spoke, his voice grand and deep, "You dwell peacefully in the Vales of Anduin. What has you driven you east, to Mirkwood?"

"I give my utmost apologies," the Beorning replied, her eyes meeting his, "I was seeking refuge and was unaware I had stumbled upon your realm, my lord."

"Refuge from what, may I ask?"

"Foul things," she said bitterly, "Orcs, from Dol Guldur."

"Dol Guldur has been empty for centuries," he said, knowingly. The Beorning noticed a subtle hint of uncertainty on the king's face. He knew of the dark shadows that loomed over Dol Guldur. He knew of its evil, but refused to believe it.

"Have you heard naught of the Necromancer?" she asked, "An ancient evil dwells in that stronghold. Foul creatures are lurking in your realm, my lord." She paused, then added icily "I have tasted their wrath." Her eyes clouded as she ran a hand over a long scar under her arm.

Thranduil noticed this, his eyebrows perking in curiosity. "Those are grievous wounds you bear, even after the healer's work," he said, descending down from his throne, "How were you able to escape your enemies after being so lethally wounded?"

The Beorning looked away. "I slayed them." A tinge of guilt laced her words.

"A single beast against a pack of orcs? How commendable," he said, mockingly. He circled the woman slowly, examining her. She was tall and strong, but still had a slender, womanly physique. Muscle was apparent in her bare arms, but she did not seem slow and bulky. When she stepped, she did so swiftly and lightly, akin to an elf. Strong, but dexterous. The king had never seen a female Skin-changer in all his years, and her strengths seemed to be on par with her male counterparts.

"I hold insurmountable hate for the Necromancer, for he was the one who drove my people out of the mountains many a year ago," she said, clenching her fist, "I would not have survived if not for my burning desire to spill orc-blood. That is all."

Thranduil watched the young woman with growing interest. "Do not be so quick to denounce your strengths, young one. Your rage is not your only strength." His voice was kind and convincing.

She said nothing, but closed her eyes wearily as if reminiscing on painful memories.

A comfortable silence befell the room before Thranduil sparked another question. "Where do you dwell now, Skin-changer?"

"Why should I tell you?" she said, grudgingly. She had soon realized that she should be more cautious with her tongue, as she did not want the Elvenking to know too much about her and her people. She had already said too much. She now spoke darkly and distrustfully.

The Elvenking chuckled to himself. "You have no reason to," he admitted, "It was simply out of curiosity. I do not wish to manipulate you, if that is what you think I am intending with such questions."

She did not speak. She grew warier with each gentle word he spoke. _Lies_, she thought to herself, _That is exactly what you will do._

Thranduil noticed this suspicion and only continued to chuckle, his laughs low and hearty. "Why are you so wary, Skin-changer?"

"Beornings are wary of all except their kin." she replied honestly. She decided not to speak any more. She did not want to say too much.

"You need not be," he told her, mimicking her words to Sídhon, "I hold no harmful intentions. You may take these words or discard them. That is your choice." The king spoke with such kindness and sincerity, it was if he were apologizing. The Beorning hesitated, contemplating whether or not to trust the king. The latter could result in severe consequences. Privacy was most valuable to the Beornings, and especially to her, as she held many secrets. But she felt his words tugging at her heart, and she felt her heart slowly giving in. She had not spoken of her past for many a year, had not told anyone of her doings. To bring it up once more in front of this king... did she really trust him enough? She had a undeniable desire to simply tell him everything. She had bottled up her secrets for too long and the Elvenking's words were kind and promising.

She gave in and began to speak.

"I was born in the mountains with my kin, but dwelt in the Westfold of Rohan for much of my life," she told him, "Before I was banished." Her eyes grew dark and cloudy as she said this. Thranduil remained silent, waiting patiently for her to continue.

"I wandered the forests of Fangorn before travelling North to find my kin in the Vales. As I traveled along the Anduin to the Ford of Carrock, I was ambushed by a group of orcs, but I managed to kill them and find sanctuary deeper in the forest." Her eyes softened, and she added, "Or rather, I was just looking for a fairer place to perish." She chuckled as she said this. "It seems fate has other plans for me though."

"So it seems..." Thranduil murmured, intrigued by the Beorning's story. He stared at her, his eyes half-lidded as he pondered his words contemplatively.

He began to walk again, turning his back to his guest. "Tell me," he said, low and clear, "Why did a daughter of Beorn decide to live in Rohan? Were you not fond of your people?" Behind him, he heard her gritting her teeth uncomfortably.

She grimaced. "'Twas a rather personal matter, my lord." Now, she could _not_ tell him this.

Thranduil gazed up at the palace ceiling thoughtfully. Another silence fell upon the room, and for a moment, the Beorning thought the king did not want to continue with the subject. She was proven wrong.

"Was it a lover?" he asked, breaking the silence. He did not face her, and spoke blandly.

She was shocked by how easily he had guessed it. But she would not - could not, admit this. "No," she replied firmly.

"There is no use lying to me, Skin-changer," he told her with a mocking tone.

She was aghast. Had he really solved her that easily? "I-I..." she started.

But she could say nothing. She gave up, her arms falling to her sides in defeat.

Thranduil smirked to himself. "How interesting," he spoke, "A Beorning and a Rohirrim."

She did not speak. Her face remained stoic.

The Elvenking evaluated her expression before chuckling softly and walking back to his throne."You shall tell me more of it on a later date," he commanded, "For now, I will let you rest. I have prepared proper chambers for you." He waved his hand, signaling for an escort.

"Thank you, my lord, but I do not want to burden you anymore with my presence," the woman said, somewhat nervously, "I do not deserve such treatment. My sincerest thanks for your hospitality. I will be on my way as soon as you permit me to." She wanted to leave as soon as possible.

The Elvenking held up a hand, halting her. "Please, you are a welcome guest here," he told her, smiling gently, "But in any case, do you not owe me a favor for saving your life?" A glint of mischief sparkled in his eyes and his warm smile became a sly smirk."Feredir was gracious and foolish to have brought you into my palace. He overestimated my hospitality for wounded_ animals_." He spat the last words icily and with distaste

"I could have ended your life right when you passed through my doors. But I spared you," he continued.

The Beorning gulped, taken aback by his sudden sharpness. "What do you require from me?" She hated obligations, and desired to fulfill them as quickly as possible.

The king's smile grew larger. "I require your service to Mirkwood, for three months."

"But – " she protested, but the King held a finger to her lips, silencing her.

"Remember, I spared your life," he spoke, his face eerily closer to hers, "Will you not show gratitude to me?" His ice cold eyes stared into hers, causing her heart to beat as fast as a galloping steed. His glare was intense and did not waver, and they pierced into her like sharp daggers embedding themselves into her soul.

"Y-yes… my apologies, my lord."

"My _king_," he corrected her, "You shall address me as that." He began to ascend up the stairs, back to his throne.

"My apologies, my _king," _she said pointedly.

"And what shall I call you, Beorning?" He seated himself down.

"I do not have a name," she said dismissively.

"Preposterous. You will be given a name."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, his blue eyes gazing at the Beorning in deep thought. She felt uncomfortable as those cold eyes searched her, examined her meticulously.

"Lavaneth," he stated finally.

"What does that mean?"

The king stared down at her from his high throne, his eyes cold and condescending. He said his words, heavy with disgust.

"Animal."

* * *

**Thanks for all the follows/faves guys! I really appreciate it. I managed to squeeze this chapter out before school starts tomorrow, but I will undoubtedly be working on the third chapter in the coming week. (and avoiding my homework)**

**I'm sorry if Thranduil is a bit off-canon here... he does seem a tad bit nice, but I tried to change that at the end of their conversation. And also, I know it's inaccurate to give her a Sindarian name, but after all, Thranduil is an elf and I was tired of referring to her as "Beorning". **

**Thanks for reading, mellon nin!**

**EDIT 1/12/2014: Decided to add a bit more to flow with the theme of my third chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

_ "Your hands. They are wounded."_

_ Her eyes met his tentatively, before they trailed down to her bloodied palms. They were scratched and caked with blood both new and old. They stung a bit, but the pain was dulled. She stared at her palms dumbly, as if they were some encrypted code she was trying to decipher. Her mind was blank, her body cold and numb. She could not feel or think one thing._

_ He reached over and grabbed her hands wordlessly, cupping them in his. His hands were roughened from years of harsh labor, but yet, they held hers gently. He ran his thumb softly over her palms, crazing her scratches with a gossamer touch._

_ She winced a bit. It did not hurt much, though his touch was foreign and surprised her all the same. One hand not touched her with such delicacy for many a year._

_ "Oh. Sorry." He let go her hands quickly, guiltily averting his eyes to the side._

_ Without thinking, she quickly moved her hands to him. The sudden absence of his touch and warmth was unsettling, and she felt an uncertain lust for his strong hands to be under hers. She held out her exposed palms to him, and did not speak._

_ He said nothing, but smiled warmly as he took her hands in his. She smiled back, timidly. They sat in peaceful silence, clasping hands for a very long time as they enjoyed the hazy glow of the setting sun behind them._

* * *

Lavaneth woke up abruptly. She had been desperately clinging to the faded remnants of her nostalgic dream as it slowly deliquesced into nothingness. These old memories would soon fade with the passing of time. But she still remembered his face vividly, she could see his gentle smile through the growing darkness. Her heart felt heavy. She would soon forget that smile, forever.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by loud, insistent knocking on her door.

"Lavaneth?"

A low, commanding voice of an elf called her new name, and for second, she wondered if he had stumbled upon the wrong room. _Oh yes_, _I am Lavaneth now, _she recalled with disdain. She hated the elven name. She despised the piteous eyes of the Elvenking who looked at her as nothing more than a beastly animal. The Elvenking, who was gentle with her, who brought out her naivety and gotten her to speak of her origins, her history, her life and most importantly… her lover. He knew everything about her now, and she could do nothing to seal his lips. She had always kept her doings private… but the Elvenking's caring façade had loosened her tongue. How cunning.

_I will rip you off your high throne, Elvenking_, she thought bitterly.

"Lavaneth," the voice called, "Open the door, at once." He spoke sternly, but without malice.

"I do not respond by that name," she snapped.

There was a slight pause before the elf replied with, "You just did."

Lavaneth felt the slightest bit of embarrassment at this revelation, but there still remained an ounce of defiance. "Go away," she said, resorting to childish behaviors.

"I have fresh clothes and an invitation to dinner. If you wish to wallow in your own filth, then be my guest. If not, please open the door." His words were forced and acerbic.

Lavaneth obliged, but mumbled curses under her breath. She pulled open the heavy, wooden door with much effort as she was still drowsy from her nap. Her legs felt like they could barely hold her up, and she realized that she was immensely hungry and had not eaten for many days. She suddenly felt very weary. The woman leaned against the door ever so slightly, hoping that the elf would not notice, and if he did, would not think of her as a weak, spineless woman.

"Are you still tired, my lady?"

Her eyes trailed up to meet the tall elf's, having to crane her neck up slightly to match his gaze. A dark-haired, broad-shouldered elf stood before her, clothed in a grey tunic and pants. His hair cascaded down his back, straight and unsullied. Intricate braids were weaved along the side of his head and carefully tucked behind his pointy ears. He had narrow, dreamy eyes that were the color of a calm sea, light blue at the center and darkening at the edges of his iris. He had thick, dark brows that framed his eyes sternly and stiffly. His face was long and solemn, almost sad, but more so serious. Lavaneth examined him carefully, feeling an unquestionable sense of familiarity whilst looking upon his face.

"Am I truly that beautiful that you can marvel at my stature for _that _long?" he asked, teasingly.

The Beorning was taken aback by his playful remark, for she had assumed him to be a serious and stern character.

"Is it common courtesy for elves of the Woodland Realm to wake a guest up with rude and narcissistic questions?" she asked, annoyed, "If so, I am most displeased and disappointed at the manner of elves, whom I believed were _fair_ and _kind_ beings."

"My apologies, my lady," he replied sincerely, "You have faced most unfortunate incidents as of late, and I only wished to lighten the mood."

He lowered his head respectfully. "I am Feredir, Captain of the Mirkwood Elven Guard."

At the mention of this name, Lavaneth's ears perked and eyes brightened. "You are the one who saved me!" she said, suddenly remembering where she had seen his face.

He nodded with a smile. "I am glad to see you well."

"Thank you. If not for you, I would be dead." She then bowed deeply before him. "I owe many thanks to you, Lord Feredir. You have my highest respect and gratitude," she said earnestly.

Feredir nodded in acknowledgement. "I am honored that you hold me in high esteem, as I feared you would come to dislike me due to our initial meeting."

"My sentiments change like the winds of Arda," she replied, stifling a laugh, "Though I do admit, I was not overly fond of your demeanor at first, my lord. I cannot say I do like those who are too haughty."

"As expected," he said, "You seem to me a grounded woman and I do not believe that you like or are much of a jest."

"Oh, I have many sides, master elf," she said, "I save my mischief for when I deem appropriate." Her eyes narrowed and she smirked at him playfully.

The corner of Feredir's lips curled up slightly. "Is that so?" he said, "I hope to catch such moments." They shared a light laugh. Lavaneth was getting to like the captain, and her cynical thoughts on Mirkwood slowly began to dissipate in Feredir's company.

Feredir paused, then spoke slowly. "I am not usually like this, my lady," he admitted, "If you ask any of the guards under my command, they will say I have a stern, cold persona."

"Then why do you speak so lightly now?" Laveneth inquired.

"I do not know," he said slowly, "I believe that I can talk truthfully with you, my lady. Around my subordinates, I must uphold a reputable character."

"Are you saying you feel comfortable around me?"

"In a sense," he said, "We have just met, though I feel I have known you for much longer." He let his gaze fall to her eyes, which were looking up into his, curious and expectant. Her eyes were dark, but held much depth, like a still lake at the quiet hours of midnight. His eyes fell to the scar on her left eye, which was long, but shallow. It ran from the top of brow, through her eye to her jaw in a jagged line. Feredir could not dismiss the image of her bear form from his head. It was too similar.

"What a curious feeling," Lavaneth commented, shaking him out of his thoughtful haze "I have never encountered such moods. Nonetheless, I hope that we become good friends." She extended a hand out to shake.

"As to you," he replied, shaking the Beorning's hand firmly. Her hands were large and rough, and she shook back with equal strength.

"_Mae govannen, mellon nin,_" he spoke in Sindarian, "That means 'well met, my friend.'"

"_Mae govannen_ to you too," she said, stumbling over the pronunciation. Feredir chuckled lightly.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, holding out a brown bag to her, "Here are some new clothes for you. And a gown for tonight's banquet. We celebrate your health. You will also be properly pledging your loyalty to Mirkwood tonight."

Lavaneth accepted the bag reluctantly. _So soon..._ she thought to herself. She faced Feredir. "I wish not for the king to create such commotion over me."

"Well, he has done precisely so, and neither you nor I can undo it," Feredir replied, "It would be unwise to disobey him, Lavaneth. You have not yet formally sworn allegiance to King Thranduil, but you are nonetheless under his ruling."

Lavaneth did not like those words. She had lived freely and without obligations for her whole life. She prized freedom over everything, and tonight she would sacrifice that long-preserved luxury. Serving under someone was completely foreign to her. Lavaneth did not wish for such lifestyle, but she had no other choice.

"I understand," the Beorning said, clenching the bag tighter, "I will obey."

Feredir gave a curt nod and turned away.

"I will see you tonight, Lady Lavaneth," he said, his back turned to her, "Search for me at the banquet, for there will be few friendly eyes looking at you tonight." With that, he briskly walked away.

Lavaneth stood dumbly at the doorway, wishing the sun would never set.

* * *

**Bonjour, mes amis! Je veux parler français pour le moment, mais je ne sais pas pourquoi. (My french is terrible, I know.)**

**Well, finally finished the third chapter! Didn't want the conversation to drag on but I felt like it needed to occupy this whole chapter. The fourth chapter might not be up for a bit, since I'm going on a ski/snowboard trip with my school this week, but hopefully I'll have it up before then.**

**In the meantime, thank you for all the follow and faves! And also, please review! It means a lot to me, since I'm pretty new to story writing and I need all the help I can. What do you think of Lavaneth? (She seems like a Mary Sue at the moment, not denying it.) Please tell me how I'm doing. I will shower you with my love. S'il vous plaît et merci.**

**Thanks for reading, mellon nin!**


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